


All For One

by Ladycat



Series: Treasure'verse [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Multi, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:51:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kitchen is a disaster, more smoke hanging in grey whorls, drifting this way and that as Xander stares morosely at an explosion of food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All For One

**Author's Note:**

> A very young Xander is bought by Spike and his father Giles. Contains a serious potential squick regarding pedophilia, so please don't read if that bothers you.

The house smells of char and ash when they come home, smoke hanging grey above their heads before escaping out the door. Spike glances up at his father, eyebrows both raised identically. "I'll take this one," Dad says, gesturing for Spike to go upstairs.

Riiight, Spike wants to say, smirking back his lack of obedience.

Dad just smiles, waving him to at least, for god's sake, stay out of the way, then. They've established these silent signals over too many boys and too similar minds, something Spike is usually grateful for. It affords them a bit of privacy when they're in public, keeping their intentions hidden. It's important when you're a Giles, wealthy and well-thought of, often in the press for all the good deeds they do. And they are good deeds, although the best of them isn't something the press would find worthy.

Spike does, though, and Dad. And their boys do, too, which is all that matters. Particularly _this_ boy, sweet and needing in a way none of the others ever have before. Needing Spike.

Careful to keep his movements quiet, Spike slips through the living room to tuck himself behind the small hanging basket they'd recently received in thanks for something or other. The plants would die eventually, but there was always something in this spot, keeping someone hidden while the living room or kitchen -- depending on which angle one sat at -- perfectly visible. 

The kitchen is a disaster, more smoke hanging in grey whorls, drifting this way and that as Xander stares morosely at an explosion of food. The dark brown rivers are a pot-roast gone horrible wrong, carrots brilliant orange contrast to starchy potatoes slipping onto the floor. There are greens -- or at least they were greens, now horribly charred and inedible -- in a pot on the stove, staring damnably back at Xander who looks like he's seconds from crying. He's a mess, the poor boy, covered in food with a living burn he can't stop rubbing on his right hand, and positively stewing guilt over his mistakes. 

Dad enters, calling back over his shoulder as if he's speaking to Spike, "Yes, take your time, I ... " He looks at Xander, the consummate actor appearing sympathetically surprised. "Well, then. It looks like there's a bit of clean up for us, tonight."

It's said caringly, but Xander isn't in any frame of mind to hear that. He winces, huddling in on himself, and clearly waiting for reprimand. When the silence stretches, he finally blurts, "I'm sorry! Really, I just ... I wanted to try, and Willow said cooking is always good, and I'm really bad at it, really bad at _everything_ , I know, and I'm sorry, I'll clean it all up, I'll do anything you want, I promise."

Spike realizes at the same moment as his father that Xander's not just expecting punishment -- he's expecting _exile_ , banishment back to his former life for crossing what he sees as the uncross-able line.

Dad's by his side in seconds, enfolding Xander into a hug despite the food clinging to him. "There now," he murmurs, "all that for a bit of ruined supper? Hush, pet, that's all right now." 

He's not crying, not yet, but his shoulders shake with each breath. Dad's arms holds him even more tightly, his other hand stroking over a flushed face. "What were you trying to make?"

"Pot roast," Xander admits, shamefully. "W-Willow said it was easy. Um. I think she's a better cook than I am, though."

"Well, pot roast is probably not for beginners, no. We're you trying to surprise us?"

Xander nods, neck probably aching from hanging his head so low. "Some surprise, huh?"

"Oh, lad, if you think this is the first time I've come to destroyed kitchen, then you're sorely mistaken. I've even done the destroying myself, a time or two." When Xander looks up, blatantly disbelieving despite the glimmer of hope in watery brown eyes, Dad chuckles again. "Why do you think we have a cook, hm? I can hardly make beans on toast without scorching something!"

That makes Xander think, nose wrinkling. "Beans on toast?"

"A British delicacy, lad, and one I'll make for you. Now, come on, let's get this cleaned up, hm?"

Dad takes a subtle step back, his arm still around Xander's shoulder, watching to see what Xander does first. Xander looks up at him through long, dark lashes, his mouth trembling a little. He looks so _young_ , losing the hints of growing confidence and assurance they've worked so hard to build about, and Spike cups himself, rubbing the seam of his jeans into his growing erection. This one is such a perfect treasure for them. Just exceeding every expectation.

"M-maybe you should go get changed?" Xander asks, breaking free reluctantly to pull the garbage can closer to the stove. "I got you, um. You were wearing a suit."

The shivering starts back up, especially when Xander catches a glimpse of Dad's face -- grim and solemn and _angry_. Spike knows what the problem is, knows that Dad doesn't give two figs for the suit and is instead angry at Xander's instant willingness to martyr himself. This whole evening is really an exercise in self-sacrifice, and as selfish as the Giles men are, as much as they like their boys to concentrate on giving _them_ pleasure -- well, there are limits. Subservience, as opposed to submission and acceptance, is not something either of them will tolerate. Not even for their servants, frankly, who are well paid and compensated for their efforts.

The expression is gone in an instant, though, and Dad's got his arms back around Xander. "I'm not angry with you, dear boy," he says. "You've done nothing wrong."

"But I made a _mess_." There's the quavering upset of a toddler in Xander's voice, and it takes effort for Spike to stay where he is. He wants to be the one holding Xander against his heart, hushing him as he fights back tears he thinks he is too manly to shed. "I -- I messed up."

"No, you attempted to do something very kind, and it didn't work. It's hardly the first or last time that will ever happen, and I am _not_ angry with you, Xander. I swear it." 

Xander shakes his head, clearly disbelieving. It's not something Dad can fix with words no matter how firmly spoken, Spike knows -- there's far too much conditioning from an uncaring, bastard of a father and a mother who couldn't climb out of the bottle enough to provide any kind of protection. Xander's almost as upset about _not_ receiving the harsh words and hard blows he expects as he is about the mess he's made.

Dad knows too, or at least Spike thinks he does. Dad doesn't seem to get Xander the way Spike does, and as much as he wants the boy, touches and plays with him, it's clear that he's Dad's only because Spike doesn't mind sharing.

Well, he doesn't mind sharing _much_.

Dad smiles wryly, glancing over Xander's parsley-encrusted shoulder to shoot a look at Spike. He nods, understanding what's necessary, and hurries up the stairs even as Dad gently coaxes Xander into letting _Dad_ do the bulk of the cleaning.

Their voices rise up through the hallways as Spike fiddles with the sunken tub in the master bathroom, turning on this get and that stream of bubbles. Xander's still horribly upset, but embarrassment is beginning to win out. It's a healthier response, even if it's a tad more self-deprecating than Spike would like. He's laughing, though, twisted little chuckles that Dad echoes more heartily.

"This is tradition," Dad says firmly. Spike can just barely make out Dad forcibly tugging Xander down the hallway, towards the master bedroom. "I told you about the chocolate _everywhere_ the first time William tried to bake a cake, right?"

Xander giggles, still half-heartedly tugging in Dad's grip. "Yeah. But he was a _kid_ , you said."

Spike remembers that incident -- and remembers more that it took places several years before Dad discovered him. Not that Spike objects to the embellishments, he just doesn't want Xander catching them out in the time-line, something he's learning too much of, to be honest. He's too easy to talk to, their new boy, and Spike has nearly stopped watching what he says in Xander's presence. It's reassuring in one regard -- dangerous in another.

"And so are you, little one," Dad tells him, infusing his voice with authority and gravitas. "A little boy, trying to be so big for his dad and brother. And this _is_ tradition, so in you get." 

Spike melts out of the way just as Dad gets Xander into the bathroom. "Sit, love," Dad instructs, snagging a chair for himself as he pushes Xander onto the ledge of the bath tub. Xander's dazed with the humid warmth of the room, passively accepting as Dad pulls first one leg up, then the other, deftly removing shoes and socks.

Spike's fingers itch to help, to smooth along the planes of Xander's shoulders, still slumped downward, to run his fingers down a chest that gets broader almost every day, to gently --  
But no, this is Dad's game. And Dad is doing all those things, caressing and fondling as he strips an unresisting Xander out of his clothes. He stops frequently to cup Xander between his legs, rubbing lightly -- it's something familiar and reassuring to Xander, echoing those first touches Spike ever gave him. Being manhandled -- quite literally -- is base and ground for Xander, and the quickest way to get his breathing to slow, his body to relax, his mind go completely offline and willing to do whatever Dad or Spike want him to do. 

"There, that's better," Dad informs Xander, the heel of his hand rubbing back and forth against Xander's erect cock. "Into the tub with you."

He looks so _pretty_ naked, even with bits of food in his hair. He's starting to look more adult, a few regular meals augmenting the skinny muscles until Spike's fairly certain that Xander's going to have some real bulk on him when he finishes growing. But that's years from now, and a lot of regular meals to fill out the hollows.

"Dad?" Xander sounds drunk, distant and little, swaying closer to Dad's body. "I don't -- um. Can I not be alone?"

Still stroking, Dad chuckles, leaning down to bus a kiss over Xander's mouth. "Of course, pet. Help me get my clothes off, hm?"

This is the dichotomy that Spike's fairly certain Xander hasn't caught onto yet. Things that are acceptable when sex is on offer, when Dad's caressing his hair as well as his balls, are not acceptable outside the bedroom – even if the ‘bedroom’ is actually the terrace. The very lack of physical boundaries, since they’re apt to indulge whenever the whim takes them, doesn’t help give Xander the help he needs to distinguish between sex-kitten from youngest sibling. Worse, Xander wasn't precisely a servant in his former life, but he certainly wasn't a valued and contributing member, respected as his own individual. Until he learns for himself where the boundaries are, Spike and Dad would have to content themselves with hating that Tony Harris had done to his only son. 

Xander's hands are big and fumbling, almost coarse-looking against the black slide of Dad's suite. "I got it messy," Xander murmurs.

"That's what dry cleaning's for. And if not, believe me, I have others. You, little one, are far more important and precious to me than a hundred different suits, all right?"

Xander glances up, flashing that brilliantly innocent smile that never fails to make both him and Dad utterly breathless with wanting. "Okay, Dad."

Giles smoothes down an errant curl, tightening his fingers at the same time so Xander gasps. "There's my boy."

The rest of the clothes were removed silently, Dad stepping into the bath and settling down before Xander went into the water, crawling into Dad's lap.  
Over Xander's shoulder, Spike makes a face. He can't see if Xander's going to be curled on his side like that! Share, damn it! Dad smirks right back at him and doesn't make a move to turn Xander to a more voyeuristically-friendly position, instead lifting up a cake of soap and gliding it down skin gone pink from the heat.

Spike tries very hard not to moan when Xander does. 

The water is cloudy with bubbles, obscuring everything below Xander's navel, but Spike doesn't mind. Yet. He likes watching as Dad runs the cake of soap over Xander's skin, milk-white bubbles frothing in its wake, turning Xander's skin more golden in contrast. Spike and Dad are both lily pale, true Englishmen despite residing in a golden bowl of tanned warmth like Sunnydale, Xander a tawny bit of amber, set against Dad's paler frame.

Spike wants to run his fingers through that salt-and-pepper curl on Dad's chest, but contents himself with watching Xander rock into it, scritching himself the way a puppy will rub up against its master's hand.

Dad washes Xander very slowly, obviously teasing with each touch, murmuring words that have no meaning except for the gentling tone of voice. Dad used to raise dogs, back in England, and horses too. The technique is similar for little boys as well, or at least it is for Xander who melts against Dad, eyes fluttering as tension slips away, taking all Xander's nervous energy with it. 

"There, see?" Dad asks, running his fingers over Xander's ribs. Xander squirms a little in reaction, rolling himself flat against Dad's chest, hips tucked in between Dad's thighs.

Spike breathes silent thanks that Xander, at least, knows the proper position.

"I'm still sorry." Xander blinks up, coyly glancing over his shoulder. He's not quite meeting Dad's eyes, indicating that he's still very upset, but he's calming enough that he can play the game again, which is an important first step. The game is comprised of rules, and surprisingly, Xander likes those a lot. So long as he knows what's acceptable, which deviations are permissible, he tends to calm down quickly enough. "I wanted to give you something nice."

Any other time, and Spike would be snorting at such a blatant opening -- but Xander truly doesn't know what he's offering. Even now, even as he grows bolder when it comes to the sex-games they both play with him, he still is truly an innocent. Dad loves that about him -- well, and Spike, too -- chuckling and leaning down to press a kiss below Xander's ear even as he curls a hand around Xander's cock.

"Oh, I think you give me quite a lot, little one. Will you give me more, now?" 

The water has been circulating all this time, the milky parts sucked into drains to be replaced by clear, leaving the lingering scents of heather and jasmine to cling behind them. It affords Spike a perfect look at Xander's widening thighs, exposing cock and balls and Dad's hand working over both. 

Dad is fully erect underneath Xander, his cock in that perfect cleft of Xander's arse. Spike is unreasonably jealous of that -- cock or arse, though, he isn't entirely certain -- and he wishes that Dad hadn't decided that _today_ was the alone-time he had been wanting with Xander. Spike wants to be the one to kiss that wet, gasping pink mouth, to run his tongue over unnaturally straight teeth, letting his hands wander down too-smooth skin and muscles that flexed appealing as Dad pulls and pulls over Xander's cock.

Xander _is_ gasping as he rides each of Dad's touches, head thrown back and grinding himself into the cup of Dad's hips. "Oh," he says. "I – _Dad_ – "

"Shhh, it's all right. Let me make you feel good. After all, you wanted to please me, didn't you, pet? You wanted to be a good boy for Dad, a grown up boy."

Xander's whimpering now, thrashing slightly as precome beads at the tip of his cock, sliding down to star into the water, shimmering like an oil slick. "M-messed -- "

"No, you didn't," Dad assures him, his voice low and powerful in Xander's ear. Spike _knows_ how overwhelming it is to be wrapped up in Dad's voice and Dad's body, your own needs and wants completely subsumed. "You didn't succeed in your endeavor, but you _did_ please me, pet. You were a responsible boy, trying to show us how much you love us. I am never upset about that, little one. Understand? Never." 

"Please," is all Xander can say, the red head of his cock flashing as Dad's fingers move over and off of it, again and again. He's such a _pretty_ boy when he's like this, open and uncomplicated in his enjoyment. It's not just physical enjoyment either, something on its own that neither Spike nor Dad would find any enjoyment in. No, this is Xander entirely caught up in Dad's hand sliding over his cock, his mind sifted into obedient need and pure trust.

It's the trust that has Spike yanking his fly open, fishing himself out and setting a much faster rhythm than the one Dad has chosen. He needs this, needs to catch up, sync himself into Xander's all-consuming happiness.

Dad nips Xander's earlobe, smiling at the sound Xander makes in reaction. His eyes are on Spike, despite the hands roaming over Xander's cock and chest, and the smile is a secretive one Xander will need years to fully appreciate. "Good boy," Dad says gently. "Such a very good boy for me."

Xander comes with a strangled cry, Spike biting down hard to prevent himself from echoing the noise even as he strips his shirt to match Xander's now-stripped chest. Dad cuddles Xander, gentling him and crooning to him as Xander pants out the last of his orgasm. He turns lax and boneless in Dad's arms, hair damp and tousled from Dad's humid attentions, looking as blissed-out as any junky Spike's ever seen.

He's seen a few.  
He waits for Dad's nod before slipping out in the main bedroom, stripping, and sauntering in naked. "There you are."

Xander manages a weak wave and grin Spike's pretty sure he's glad Dad can't fully see, wriggling backwards -- Dad grits his teeth in reaction, eyes going wide -- instinctively trying to make room for Spike. The bathtub is big enough for five grown adults, most of them much better then they are, so Spike rolls his eyes and glides to the middle.

"Hello, love," he murmurs, capturing Xander's mouth in a lazy kiss.

"Hey." He's practically coquetting, curving like a shy horse, head ducked down so that Spike has to chase his mouth. "Um, I -- mm. Messed up the kitchen."

"No, you were attempting to cook in the kitchen. And I'm certain Dad told you about some of _my_ exploits before we hired a cook full time." 

"A little, yeah. But you were at least making _cake_." Xander blinks, adopting the most pitifully mournful expression ever. "I should've made a cake."

Both Spike and Dad laugh, although Dad's trails off into a gasp as Xander and Spike both get a hand on him and start stroking. "Is that your way of saying you want cake for desert?" Spike chides, stealing another kiss.

"Maybe?"

"Greedy boy. Let's get Dad off, and then we'll go order dinner, hm?"

Xander nods, already sliding back so that he's perched on one of Dad's thighs, leaving the other for Spike to take. It's a tight fit, but both he and Spike are pretty skinny, and the water helps the buoyancy aspects well enough. Their hands are copper and milkstone over Dad's finely blushing cock, and for a moment, the only noises are their breathing and the wet slide of their hands.

Then: "What about you, Spike? I mean. You're hard, too." Xander licks his lips.

Oh, _god_ , Spike thinks and knows Dad is mentally echoing. "I think we'll wait until after dinner to take care of me, all right?"

"Oh. Um. Why?"

So perfect naive and malleable, blinking dark eyes up at both of them. "I think," Dad says gently, "that your brother would appreciate something a little more in depth. And I know I would like a turn at your arse, dear one. Would that be acceptable?"

Xander's eyes glaze and Spike not actually that far behind. They've only done that particular position once before, and it was Spike who took Xander hands and knees while he sucked on Dad's cock. Switching it, watching that dark head bob, the lean line of his back appearing and disappearing while he stared straight at Dad...

"Oh, yes," Dad laughs, kissing first Spike, and then Xander. "Quite acceptable. Now, which of you boys wants to give me a kiss to help me come a little faster?"


End file.
